


je te veux (i want you)

by yuchi



Series: late nights and green cupboards [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Dakota Johnson's Kitchen, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Yukhei-centric, ish, let's pretend having an apartment with four rooms is realistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24915310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuchi/pseuds/yuchi
Summary: Not everything in Yukhei's life is flawless, but here in their cramped kitchen with green cupboards and the smell of ramen wafting around—it’s perfect.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Series: late nights and green cupboards [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042509
Comments: 21
Kudos: 122





	je te veux (i want you)

**Author's Note:**

> forgive me its 3 am and i have been dying to finish this so i can move on. long live 99 line

The apartment is strangely quiet when Yukhei arrives a little past ten. He listens carefully as he toes off his shoes in the entryway: no television, no chatter, not even the sound of the oven when Dejun goes on his late night baking frenzies. It’s odd. Even though it’s late into the night, at least two of them should be awake, puttering around aimlessly in search of something to occupy them.

Kunhang is who greets him when he reaches the living room, the younger curled up against the end of the couch with a book in his lap. Yukhei smiles; he’s always been predictable. Even though his room is beautiful—an airy space with cream walls and enough sunlight to illuminate his paintings—Kunhang only ever goes there to sleep or work. His favorite place in the apartment is the living room. Says that he loves the “aura”, or whatever else it is. Yukhei knows it's because he's more likely to see everyone there.

“Yukhei, hi,” Kunhang chirps as soon as Yukhei comes into view, closing his book and leaving it on one of the end tables. “How’d work go?”

None of his artists submitted their mock-ups on time, his team can't agree on anything for their brochure except for one font, the microwave in the break room smelled of fish when he opened it, and there's a headache brewing near his temples, but he's not going to tell Kunhang that. 

“Not too bad.” Yukhei leans down to kiss him briefly, smiling when Kunhang raises a brow in disbelief. “How was your day?”

“Did nothing,” Kunhang announces proudly, and Yukhei chuckles as he sets his briefcase and coat on the other end of the couch. “Just got paid a fuck ton for the last commission, and the client recommended me to a bunch of other people so my e-mails have been piling up.”

“The one that wanted a nude of his girlfriend?” Yukhei questions, sinking into the couch beside Kunhang.

“Mhm,” he nods earnestly, but his face quickly morphs into one of horror. “Oh God. What if his friends want nudes, too?”

Yukhei laughs, slinging Kunhang’s leg over his. He's wearing one of Mark's many pairs of basketball shorts that have become more of a communal resource than a personal possession. “You better get to work, then. I’m not paying for your turpentine anymore.”

“Lies,” Kunhang declares. “You’ll pay for whatever I ask of you, pushover.”

Yukhei sighs dramatically. “Woe is me.” He draws a few lines where Kunhang’s shorts have ridden up to reveal his pale thigh, presses a kiss to the curve of his jaw. “Where are the others?”

"Mark is in your room." Kunhang pouts, brows furrowing in concern. "He had a rough day. Meeting with his editors—he has a shit ton of revisions to make."

Yukhei winces. "Poor thing. Is he sleeping?"

"Last time I checked. Went straight to sleep after washing up."

Yukhei hums. "Dejun?"

"In his room, still awake. Check on him, would you?" Kunhang requests. "I think he's getting annoyed at me barging in."

"He's just stressed," Yukhei laughs, running a hand through his gelled hair. "He never takes well to Mark being upset.”

"None of us do." Kunhang smiles, raising his book as though it were proof. "When have you ever seen me read?"

Yukhei knows exactly what he means. Mark’s default is to be happy and smiling, so it’s doubly disconcerting when he isn’t. They’ve always been attuned to each other’s moods like that—if one is sulking, it’s probable that the others are, too, which probably explains why the apartment is so quiet.

“You’re right,” Yukhei agrees, smiling impishly down at Kunhang. “Your attention span would never allow it.”

Kunhang smacks his thigh, but otherwise says nothing. Yukhei closes his eyes and leans his head on the back of the couch, sighing contently at the sensation of Kunhang slotting himself into his side. His nose tickles where Kunhang’s hair is teasing it, but even that is relaxing; the less than ideal day he's had already feels so far away.

“I was thinking.”

“Oh no,” Yukhei murmurs.

“I was _thinking,_ ” Kunhang continues huffily. “That we could go out this weekend. Cheer Mark up.”

Yukhei smiles into Kunhang's hair. It's one of the many things he loves about him—how he tries his hardest for them, always going out of his way to make them feel loved. He gathers Kunhang closer, wrapping his arms more securely around the other. 

It's not like Yukhei could refuse him. He never has the heart to, not any of them. “Of course. We can do something that Mark likes.”

“That would be nice,” Kunhang hums. “We haven’t been to the movies in a while.”

“I’ll see if there’s anything he wants to watch.”

“Good boy,” Kunhang coos, and it’s ridiculous enough to make Yukhei smile again. "You sure work was fine? You look a little stressed."

"I'm fine, babe, honestly." Yukhei's fingers graze Kunhang's jaw, gently turning his face so they can kiss. "Sometimes I think you worry about us more than you do yourself."

“Well, there's three of you, and only one of me.”

“How could I argue with that logic?”

“Three might become two, Wong Yukhei. Careful.”

“Oh, what a threat,” Yukhei drawls, but he kisses Kunhang again for good measure.

He gets a foot on his ribs in return, Kunhang making shooing motions off the couch. “Now, get. I don’t think Dejun has had water for three hours.”

“Not everyone has to be ridiculously hydrated like you,” Yukhei snorts, but he gets up nonetheless and trudges obediently to Dejun’s room.

“Love you!” Kunhang yells, and Yukhei rolls his eyes when he opens the door.

Dejun’s room is dark, burgundy red walls illuminated only by a single lamp. It’s more of a recording room than it is a bedroom; Dejun had gotten tired of being called to the studio for the most trivial things, so they had set the place up together, attached the equipment and soundproofing material that had cost an arm and a leg. Dejun seems happier now, though, so Yukhei doesn’t mind the expense.

Said boyfriend is tightly wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the bed that’s pressed into the farthest corner of the room, the only piece of furniture that looks out of place. A pair of headphones is fitted over his ears, and Dejun takes them off when he sees the door crack open.

“Honey, I’m home,” Yukhei singsongs. He has to step over a tangle of wires to get to Dejun’s bed, feeling a strange sort of relief when he finally sits down on the edge of it.

Dejun reaches up to grab Yukhei’s neck and kiss him. “Hi, honey,” he says wryly. “How was work?”

“Just fine.” Thankfully, Dejun is out of it enough that he isn't as perceptive as Kunhang was, although he does give Yukhei another once-over. "Whatcha listening to?" he tries by way of distraction.

“It’s just demos,” Dejun sighs, handing Yukhei his phone. He scrolls through the files piled up on the screen even though he can't make heads nor tails of what they mean. "They just sent them in today, for some fucking reason."

“Still working, hm?”

“Yeah." Dejun scrubs a hand over his eyes, and Yukhei actively has to resist the urge to coo. "Trying to come up with lyrics is a pain in the ass.”

“Aw, baby.” Yukhei tucks Dejun’s sheets in tighter, trying to stop himself from smiling too wide. He’ll never admit it to Dejun for fear of death, but he always found the other man cute when he got into one of his moods; they would involve a grumpy Dejun holing up in his room, writing furiously in one of his grid-lined notebooks, occasionally coming out to have a cup of coffee or whip up a batch of brownies if he's feeling especially stressed.

Which he certainly is, going by the state of his room. “It's a mess in here, Junnie.”

“I know,” Dejun sighs again, combing both hands through his hair. “I've been meaning to clean up, but...”

“We'll help you. Can't have you working like this, can we?”

Dejun finally smiles, clasping his hand over Yukhei’s. “You don't have to.”

“We'll do it on the weekend." Yukhei pauses. "Well, if we have time. Kunhang wants to go to the movies.”

“Mark will like that,” Dejun agrees. “How about you, though? No overtime?”

Yukhei shrugs. “Forced my boss to shove it onto someone else.”

“Hot,” Dejun murmurs absently. Yukhei quirks his brows up in amusement, but Dejun ignores him. “Have you seen Mark yet?”

“No. When I wash up, maybe.” Yukhei grins, petting Dejun’s hair. He’s cute when he gets concerned. “Don't want to disturb him.”

“Okay. Kiss him good night for me.”

“So sweet,” Yukhei simpers, laughing when Dejun gives him his best death glare. “Don’t worry, I will."

“You better.” Without warning, Dejun pulls him down by the front of his shirt and kisses him long and slow. Yukhei hums, hand reaching up to cradle the back of his neck, and lets Dejun part his lips with his tongue.

He's short of breath when Dejun pulls away, almost dizzy. "What was that for?"

"Nothing," Dejun hums, picking up his headphones and slinging them around his neck like he hadn't just given Yukhei the kiss of life. "Just felt like showing you who's boss."

"Huh. I should be a brat more often."

Dejun tries his best, but he can't stop the smile spreading across his face. "Be good and I'll show you how well the soundproofing works."

Yukhei guffaws at that. "I look forward to it."

Dejun sends him off with one last lingering kiss, and it's straight to the bathroom to wash up. When he's done, he peeks into Mark's room for good measure—but the room is empty, Mark's writing desk pristine and the books on the shelves lining the wall untouched.

Just like Kunhang said, Mark is sleeping soundly in Yukhei’s room. He must have been too tired to even turn the light off, which Yukhei does before he slips into bed behind Mark, winding his arms around the other’s waist.

Mark stirs, blearily opening his eyes.

“Hey there, love,” Yukhei murmurs. He presses a kiss to Mark’s temple, humming when Mark fits the curve of his back against Yukhei’s chest. "Did I wake you up?"

“Xuxi,” Mark says, voice softer than feathers. “It's okay. When did you get here?”

“Just did. Sleep well?”

“A bit.” And then, for the third time that evening: “How was work?”

Yukhei grins into Mark's neck. “You three are adorable.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing. Work was fine, babe.”

“Really? That's good,” Mark purrs.

Yukhei fights the instinct to sigh in relief at the lack of further interrogation. He pulls Mark closer; it’s warm under the covers, now that the two of them are pressed up against each other. “Heard you had a rough day.”

“Yeah. It's okay now, though. I know the team means well.”

Yukhei noses at Mark’s neck, placing a soft kiss at the base of it. Mark’s endless optimism never ceases to amaze him; if Yukhei knows anything about him, it’s probable that he downplayed how bad his day really was so the others wouldn’t worry. He and Yukhei are alike in that regard—stubborn and mule-headed. “Mm. I'm sure the book will be amazing.”

“Thanks, Xuxi.” Mark turns in his arms to face him, eyes suddenly wide open. “Are Kunhang and Dejun still awake?”

“Yeah. They're worried about you.” Yukhei himself knows how ridiculous it sounds, smiling as he reaches up to tuck Mark’s hair behind his ear.

“Worrywarts,” Mark giggles. “I'm fine, really. Just a little tired.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.”

“Can't now,” Mark pouts. “Went straight to bed after getting home. I’ve been out for—“ He glances at the wall clock. “—four hours now.”

They turn at the sound of three smart raps on the door. Kunhang appears in the doorway holding a tray, four cups of something steaming on it. Of course it’s Kunhang—he’s the only one that ever knocks, having grown up with three sisters. "I heard you two talking," he starts, setting the tray down on Yukhei's nightstand. "Thought you might want something to drink."

Both of them sit up. Mark's smile is bright, and he can't keep his eyes off of Kunhang as he accepts his cup of tea. "Thank you."

Kunhang makes a detour to flick the switch on, flooding the blue-walled room with light, then perches himself on the small space beside Yukhei's head. "You're welcome,” he says, winding his arms around Yukhei’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “What are my favorite boys up to?"

“Talking about how you and Dejun always go overboard when you’re worrying,” Yukhei quips, making a grab for his own cup—a difficult task when Kunhang is wrapped around him like a koala.

Mark snorts, taking a careful sip. “Like you didn’t run two blocks to buy ibuprofen when Kunhang and I got the flu.”

Yukhei chooses not to answer, bringing his cup to his lips, and lets the two laugh at him.

“I hope I’m not late,” someone says by the door, and it’s Dejun, brandishing Yukhei’s briefcase like it’s a prize. “Here, Yukhei. I know you hate it when you don’t have this in your room.”

"I completely forgot,” Yukhei gapes, watching Dejun leave it on his reading chair. “Thank you, darling."

“Darling?” Dejun questions, settling down on the floor beside the bed after he grabs his own mug. “Someone's in a sappy mood tonight.”

“Sue me,” Yukhei sighs. “It's been a long day.”

“Tell me about it,” Dejun gripes. Mark reaches down to caress Dejun's face, and his gaze softens. “Do you feel better now?”

“Mhm. Much better.” Mark’s cheeks rise when Dejun kisses his palm. “Thank you, really. You don't have to do all this for me.”

“Nonsense,” Kunhang objects. “Who else is gonna take care of you, hm? Your brother had us swear on our ancestors’ graves.”

“Good to know you only care because of filial piety,” Mark deadpans. “Do we have anything left over from last night? I’m kinda hungry.”

“Of course you are, dummy, you went to bed without dinner,” Yukhei chastises. He tugs Mark up, and Kunhang untangles himself from him, having been disrupted. “C’mon, hotshot.”

Dejun is already up, dusting off his sweatpants. “Should I make ramen?”

“You’re a menace in the kitchen. I’ll make it,” Kunhang retorts, laughing when Dejun chases him out of the room.

Mark shakes his head in exasperation, heaving himself off the bed. “They’re so dumb.”

“But you love them.”

“Yeah,” Mark sighs, but it’s more lovesick than anything else.

Yukhei makes a grab for his phone before they leave—the workaholic never leaves him, it seems, and Mark gives him a disapproving look, but he ignores that, too. When they arrive at the kitchen, Kunhang is already boiling water, and Dejun is standing on top of a barstool, rummaging around the cupboards.

“Careful, Junnie,” Mark laughs, steadying Dejun with his hands.

The apartment isn’t so quiet anymore. It feels more like home now: full of noise and ruckus and life, and Yukhei smiles to himself as he watches them move around the kitchen. Dejun somehow gathers an armful of ramen and Mark helps him down; Kunhang tuts at the pot on the stove, somehow offended that the water isn’t boiling as quickly as he wants it to.

Yukhei startles, unceremoniously pulled out of his musings by his ringtone. He can’t help his grunt of annoyance; it’s one of the art managers that he, well, _manages,_ calling him for some godforsaken reason at eleven in the evening. Yukhei scowls and leaves the phone on silent, setting it down on the counter.

When he looks up, three pairs of eyes are on him. “Is there something wrong, Xuxi?” Mark ventures.

Yukhei waves a dismissive hand, hoping that’s the end of it. “Just work calling.”

Apparently not. All attention is on him now, Kunhang even abandoning the slow-boiling pot. “Everything okay?” he asks gently.

He can lie. It’s part of the job, managing people—telling them what they want to hear so they do their job, and do it well. Yukhei has lying down to an art. But he can never lie to them.

“No, actually,” Yukhei admits. He takes all of them in, their furrowed brows and concerned eyes, and—how could he be upset when they care about him so much? His anger dissipates as quickly as it had come. “But let’s not talk about it now. It’s not important.” Because it really isn’t.

“If you’re sure,” Dejun concedes. When Yukhei nods, the three of them lose the tension in their shoulders, smiling beautifully at him. His heart constricts in his chest, but it’s a good kind of pain—the breathlessness that it leaves is something he can only feel when they’re together.

In no time, Yukhei is lost within them again, in the comforting sounds of idle chatter, the shape of them so familiar to him that he can still imagine what they’re doing even with his eyes closed. What his life has been like for the past three years and counting.

When they bid him to set the table, he stands, smiling to himself as he shuffles around the kitchen. Not everything in his life is flawless, but here in their cramped kitchen with green cupboards and the smell of ramen wafting around—it’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> yes i gave them dakota johnson's kitchen
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/1999LlNE) • [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/yuchi)


End file.
